


Song

by Ribby



Category: The Lord of the Rings RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-10-21
Updated: 2005-10-21
Packaged: 2021-03-16 12:49:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,545
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29950230
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ribby/pseuds/Ribby
Summary: Seven impossible things, after breakfast, and a happy ending.
Relationships: Sean Bean/Viggo Mortensen
Comments: 4
Kudos: 2





	Song

**Author's Note:**

> Happy belated birthday, Viggo! The poem is John Donne's "Song," and there is one more verse I didn't use, but it's just as fun as the others.

The cards had been coming for a week now, and Viggo was no closer to guessing what they meant.

The first one was on plain white cardstock, done in gorgeous calligraphy:

_Go and catch a falling star,  
Get with child a mandrake root_

_Well, I wouldn't say I'm falling just yet, but you certainly caught me. And better a mandrake than one of us, eh Viggo?_

_Love,  
Sean_

The lines rang a bell somewhere in Viggo's mind, but he couldn't quite place it. _It'll probably come to me at 3AM--good thing I keep a notebook by the bed._ And at 3AM, he sat bolt upright out of sleep, scribbled "Song--Donne" on the notebook, and fell back asleep almost immediately.

Thankfully, he could read his own handwriting pretty well, so the next morning, he pulled his battered copy of the _Norton Anthology of British Literature_ down and read, probably for the first time since college, John Donne's "Song"--and was still no closer to understanding.

**********

The next card arrived the following day, this one on handmade speckled paper with peacock-blue ink:

_Tell me where all past years are;  
Or who cleft the Devil's foot_

_Seems like past years were too many spent apart, weren't they? As for the Devil's foot, I've checked very carefully, and unless you're not telling me something, it's not cleft. _*grin*_ But if I had to, I'd guess the makeup department._

_Stumped yet, my poet?_

_Love,  
Sean_

Viggo grinned--his foot was definitely not cleft, that was for certain. But Sean was right, the past years had been too many spent apart--and he'd resolved that there would be fewer of them in the future. His smile dimmed for a minute. _Not doing too good a job of that, are you? You're here, Sean's not, and you're communicating in letters. And your birthday's in five days._ Viggo sighed, and went back to reading mediocre scripts.

**********

Crimson ink on goldenrod paper, sealed with silver wax embedded with the Tree of Gondor. Viggo grinned--he'd had that seal made for Sean, who complained that he'd never use it; looks like he'd found a reason.

_Teach me to hear mermaids singing  
Or to keep off envy's stinging_

_Mermaids I can't give you--besides, if you'll forgive me mixing my poets, "I have heard the mermaids singing, each to each/I do not think they will sing to me." Good thing, too, given my stint as Odysseus. Envy, though... be nice to not have to worry every time I see you with some young thing. I *know*, I do, that you're mine and I'm yours... but the knowing's a little green around the edges. Knowing you, you probably don't have this problem. And you know, I love that about you._

_Getting closer, Vig... understand all this yet?_

_Love,  
Sean_

Viggo shook his head bemusedly. Of course he was jealous, seeing Sean with all his co-stars, but he knew that Sean was his. Didn't stop the green-eyed monster, just shrunk him down to size. And mermaids? What the heck? Of course, he couldn't help but grin at the remembrance of Sean in his Odysseus costume... and out of it. _Especially_ out of it.

He thought he knew Sean, yet these cards were telling him so much about the man he loved--and to his eternal frustration, he had no idea _why_.

**********

Heavy cream paper with deep indigo, almost purple ink, a Thor's hammer sketched into the margin in quick pencil strokes.

_And find  
What wind  
Serves to advance an honest mind._

_Honest, hm? Well, I've tried to give you that, to the best of my knowledge. I'd rather the wind advance me, than my mind... miss you terribly. But when the wind is southerly, I know a hawk from a handsaw... and I know I'll be on my way to you._

_Love,  
Sean_

John Donne and Hamlet in the same paragraph... god, he loved Sean. Automatically, he looked out the window to check the wind... and chuckled at himself for it. But that didn't stop him from noticing the neighbor's weathervane--pointed south.

**********

Black ink on green paper--the green of Sean's eyes, glowing with passion and contentment.

_If thou be'st born to see strange sights,  
Things invisible to see,  
Ride ten thousand days and nights  
Till Age snow white hairs on thee_

_Strange sights you've definitely seen--your paintings, for one. Yes, I know, you'll get me for that. That's what I'm hoping for._

_But what stranger sight is there than Sean Bean, man's man, "little bit of rough", falling hard for a scruffy absentminded actor-artist-poet-musician (shut up, I _know_ you wouldn't put them in that order, but it's my letter, so I get to)? And I did, you know, still do every time I look at you._

_Ten thousand days and nights--that's about 27 years. Think you can stand me for 27 more years, Vig? We'll both likely be snow-white by then (no dwarf jokes, please)... though you've got a head start on me._

_Getting close now, only two verses left. And yes, you will get an explanation. Maybe._

_Love,  
Sean_

"Maybe?" Viggo growled. "You damn well better give me an explanation, Bean. Why tell me this now when I won't see you until god knows when?" Snarling, frustrated both by his lack of understanding and his need for Sean to be here, now, he stomped off to fling paint on canvas--that always made him feel better.

**********

Silver ink on sky-blue paper, written with what must be one of those gel pens, postmarked from London. _He must have borrowed a pen from one of his girls... can't imagine him using one otherwise._

_Thou, when I return'st, wilt tell me  
All strange wonders that befell thee._

_I'm expecting you to have good stories, Viggo... after all, you've got to explain the mustache. Good thing we never shagged while you had that thing-I would have felt like a cheesy porn star. (I'm smirking here, I'll have you know) And I know you--there will be a few stories that make me wish I'd been there, and several I'm glad I didn't. But there will be stories, and strange wonders, and the strangest (and best) of all will be that I'm back with you._

_Love,  
Sean_

Strange stories... he had plenty of those. And the mustache... well, he had to admit, he'd been pretty tired of it by the end, and shaving was a blessing. Besides, he just couldn't see Sean as a cheesy 70s porn star.

He brightened at the last sentence, though. _Sean's coming home... for a while, for me._ And time couldn't pass fast enough. But there was one more verse to the poem...

**********

It was his birthday, and Henry had thrown a party, as usual. Viggo enjoyed himself immensely... but all the way through, he couldn't help but dwell on the fact that there'd been no card today, no message.

_Maybe it got lost in the mail... maybe they haven't delivered it yet._ But by four there was no mail and no card, so Viggo decided to trek down to the post office and see if perhaps it had been left there. The lovely girl at the counter checked, said there wasn't anything, Mr. Mortensen, and may I have your autograph please? and after he'd signed something for her, chatted half-heartedly, and extricated himself, he headed home, dejected. He'd been looking forward to that last verse.

Darkness had fallen by the time he got back to the house, but to his surprise there were lights on. _Huh. Henry must have forgotten something._ He opened the front door and walked in--and before he could take his coat off, that familiar warm voice surrounded him:

"And I'll swear  
No where  
Lives a man so true and fair."

_Sean!_ Sean was _here!_ He flung himself through the double doors into the living room, his grin lighting up the whole room. "Sean!"

"Told you I'd be here.... after all, the wind _is_ southerly... mmmmph!" His explanation was cut off as Viggo kissed him soundly and nearly breathless.

"Did you figure it out, Viggo?" Sean asked after they could both speak again.

"It's several impossible things, isn't it? But why?"

Sean grinned. "Good boy. Yep, several impossible things, the most impossible being me talking about my feelings, and me getting home to you... and yet I did. And it's because I realized I can't see myself any longer without you... and thought it was time you knew me, completely, without any masks. The poem just provided a nice excuse." His eyes belied his grin-they were deep and serious.

Viggo smiled. "Thank you--it means so much that you're letting me see all of you, finally. I've saved the letters... they're beautiful. You know, Sean, I think you may be one of the best gifts I've ever gotten for my birthday."

Sean blushed. "Love you too, you daft American. But you knew that."

"Mm. Shall we drink a toast to Mr. Donne?"

"Gladly--so long as I can drink it off of you."

Viggo grinned, grabbed Sean in one arm and a bottle of champagne Henry had left in the other. "Well, what are we waiting for?" and hauled him up the stairs to bed.


End file.
